Reflections on an Eclipse…and a Leg Left Behind

Mark L. Martin
Aug 28, 2017 · 5 min read

Like many of you I marveled at the natural wonder of the solar eclipse.
I stood out in a field with family and friends and watched as it, very gradually, got darker…colder. At first you didn’t really realize it. Then it was even colder…even darker…all while waiting for the ultimate moment when sun’s rays would be hidden behind the overshadowing moon.

It took a few days to realize how much this amazing celestial phenomenon paralleled my journey into omnipedal existence. Three years ago today I had my left leg amputated — the result of an aneurism and series of blood clots that were discovered three years and a week ago (at about the same time that the moon was passing in front of the sun). I went from what I thought was a fairly normal but in reflection altogether incomplete life to one where I no longer take the little things for granted and I thank God every day for the blessing of my wife, my children, my friends and…my life.

While the logical progression of comparison would be to reflect how the aneurism that built undetected in my left leg progressed and, along with the clots, eventually cut off blood flow like the moon cutting off light from the sun, that’s not quite what initially came to mind. I was more moved by the period before and after the total eclipse as a representation of my first three years of amputee life.

Externally, this past year has been a quiet one in my wonderful ampu-world. Outside of the usual Halloween costume fun I didn’t comment much or share my thoughts on my amputation to the same extent that I had for the previous two years. Sure, I still received the same questions from folks asking how it was going and I still enjoyed the great inquiries from kids who stop me at the grocery store or out walking: (Yes, I am a pirate. Yes, I am a robot. No, try as I might the leg still hasn’t grown back…yet, but I’m waiting to see if the starfish therapy works).
Internally, though, it has been a rather challenging year and, personally, the hardest one in my now three year journey.
I anticipated, upon my initial tryst into the amputee lifestyle (sounds like a fad diet, no?) that this third year of single-leg-living would be where I’d get it all figured out.
Initial shock over — check.
Fight with insurance to prove I can’t actually walk so they’ll provide a prosthetic — check.
Go forth and one-legedly conquer the world…well…hold up on that for a second.

The year instead came with plenty of introspection and self-questioning.
The previous two years had been so much about me and my challenge to adapt to my new reality. You think you’re well and adjusted but then you clear through the fog and the changes and realize that such a major life shift impacts not only you but those around you as well in very prolific ways.
Now it was time to make sure that my family had a chance to heal and find our collective new normal.
Was I doing all I could to be supportive or was I just moving on without being mindful of the emotional healing still left? Was I carving out enough space to be a supportive spouse after all of the support given to me? Was I giving my children enough love and care? Had I really…I mean really come to terms with a life all flip-turned upside down? The simple answer — nope.

Amidst all of the personal adjustment and growth I realized like our just-experienced eclipse that I didn’t fully anticipate the light getting darker and the temperature getting colder. I knew, logically that those were phenomenon associated with the eclipse…I just lost track of them in the focus on the main event.

Aligned with that introspection, over the past year I’ve made even more changes to focus on that continued healing — for myself and my family:
More time to engage with the kids and get back to “normal dad” things like coaching basketball and baseball or just playing in the yard.
More time with my wife to help us establish an even stronger bond.
Continued counseling because just as in business, you don’t really know if you’re at the heart of the issue until you peel back the layers and truly talk.
Ongoing prayer and reflection about my personal peace with my disability.
That word — disability — is still hard to write for me…and a year ago I don’t think I could have done it. I don’t like thinking of myself as disabled or challenged…but let’s face it I’m not beating any of you in the 40 yard dash (still working on it but…). Oh, there are days when some of the results of my ambulatory status drive me nuts…and pretty much every set of stairs because…ugh I hate that they take so long to go up now…but I digress. I am, however, very at peace with my current physical status. I know I have work to do to keep improving. I know that I will. I’m also at peace with having those days when I’m just tired of missing a leg. Sometimes it sucks — and that’s OK.

Most importantly, I know that I am very blessed — not only to be alive but to have the increased means to share my story, my faith and my hope in the face of challenges.

Back to that eclipse. One of the things that surprised me the most was that just after totality how bright it got, and how quickly it warmed up. That’s been the biggest blessing in this past year…even though it was challenging in parts, there has been a lightening, a lifting and a warming. That’s due in large part to great people still speaking words of encouragement in my life and into my family’s lives.

If I could extend an ask to you all — a favor to someone who will never be able to repay all the kindness shown to him… Think for a moment about someone you know who experienced a tragedy or something completely unexpected two or three years ago. Perhaps they lost a son or daughter in service to their country. Perhaps their spouse passed away suddenly. Perhaps they fought off and beat cancer. Whatever their scenario, I can say with some assurance that even though that event happened a couple of years ago there are still parts of it that impact them and their family still today. So, my ask is — do something nice — and equally unexpected for that person and their family. Have a meal delivered. Call them out of the blue. Arrange a night out for them. Send an unexpected note of encouragement.
It’s those gestures of continued support and motivation that have kept me and my family going. It’s those gestures that continue to show a bright, beautiful light breaking through — past the moon that kept it covered…but only for a moment.

John 1:5

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Mark L. Martin

Written by

I work for WE Communications, am enamored w/ gadgets, politics, marketing and startups, all while exploring an amazing omnipedal adventure.

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